


“Will I Fight? Will I Swagger, or Sway?”

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Downton Abbey, Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philip, in this incarnation, is a 1970s glam rock star drawing heavily on Brian Slade and of course David Bowie. Thomas is a determined hanger on and fan. This fic, meanwhile, is a birthday gift for alittlewhos-this, who supplied the prompt. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Will I Fight? Will I Swagger, or Sway?”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daredevilmoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daredevilmoon/gifts).



> Crossover only in the loosest imaginable sense of the word. The title comes from the song Tumbling Down, originally by Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel. "And that, as they say, was that" is part of former manager Cecil's dialogue in Velvet Goldmine. Last but most important of all - happy birthday, Charlie!

It was something Philip could never quite get used to – the hot stage lights on his skin, the drops of sweat that beaded on his brow and mingled with glitter powder, and of course the sea of cheering fans dancing right in front of the stage (sometimes security had to restrain an overzealous girl or boy) or crying out to him from the highest balcony. Philip came from a good family, though they had yet to forgive his profession, and had been bred to think that the world was his oyster. Yet whatever power or distinction might have come of some dull, conservative career was nothing beside what he had achieved. This was godlike. No: _he_ was godlike.

Of course, his newfound success had its drawbacks. Philip was becoming keenly aware of the double life he was leading. It wasn’t just the stage name or fighting back a boyish grin when he heard his own singles playing on the radio in public. The fans did wear on him, for one thing. He hated to admit it – after all, he _loved_ the respect and adoration he received – yet sometimes he grew tired of the gaping mouths and shrieking, giggling teenagers, or stoned groupie girls throwing themselves at his head. (Really – he’d shocked the nation and no doubt horrified his family by coming out to Melody Maker months ago. Did the fan base not understand what that meant? And as for the girls who wrote in their letters about wanting to help him experiment, or take his straight virginity – their offers turned Philip’s stomach. _Really…_ ) Sometimes he missed talking to people in his own generation who didn’t turn into absolute morons as soon as they recognized him.

And that was why Thomas captivated him so.

*

They met at a party after one of Philip’s gigs. Philip was downing something surprisingly cheap, for the hotel they were in, and watching his manager, Ray’s, cringe-worthy attempts to pick up one of the girls from makeup. But Philip could only watch Ray trying to be cool for so long. He turned away after a couple minutes, waved to two scantily-dressed hangers-on, and scanned the room for a quiet corner. His stomach tightened, and not from the drink. Philip was bored – bored to the point of ennui, of pain, just about. He scowled at the damask walls.

Then Philip noticed the dark-haired young man smoking by the door. He smiled for the first time since the gig ended. His _ennui_ lifted almost at once; perhaps the alcohol was starting to take effect, or perhaps it was the young man’s sculpted lips and tight arse beneath equally tight dark jeans that began to stir his imagination. It may have been both. Regardless, Philip wouldn’t mind taking _that_ up to his room.

Philip pushed through the crowd. The young man caught his eye and met his gaze. He looked as intrigued as Philip himself was.

 _Well, he_ should _be_ , Philip thought, smiling.

“I suppose you know who _I_ am, if you’re here,” Philip said. It wasn’t the best pick up line – a little arrogant, perhaps – but then, he might as well begin as he was to go on. And he wasn’t about to throw away _all_ the trappings of fame, either. “Smoke?”

Philip really had forgotten his own cigarettes up in his room. The young man pulled a box out of his pocket – Philip’s eyes drifted down to his hips and arse again – and offered Philip a cigarette, obligingly.

“Thanks,” Philip said. He touched the other man’s fingers for a little too long in taking the proffered lighter to light the cigarette. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas,” the younger man said. A faint flush coloured his face, making his sharp cheek bones stand out even more. Philip hoped he wouldn’t prove as foolish and as shallow as most people did. Maybe not. Thomas, on further inspection, looked closer to Philip’s own age than the teenagers who usually filled the halls. He was a practiced smoker, which was more than most of the kids who tried so hard to be cool could say for themselves, and his blue eyes looked intelligent. That meant something to someone as world-weary as Philip was becoming.

“You’re not with the band,” Philip said, favouring Thomas with another smile. He was a little surprised by how shy his own voice sounded, how tentative. “How did you get in here?”

Thomas grinned. “Not going to call security on me, are you? After I ”

He stared Philip full in the face. The look warmed Philip’s body.

“Hardly,” he replied, drawing even closer to Thomas before touching the sleeve of Thomas’s leather jacket. Thomas leaned into that touch. _Yes_ , Philip thought.

“I wanted to try to meet you,” Thomas admitted in a low voice. “I _am_ a big fan. The guy who does the bookings for the hotel lives near me, and I’d found his lost dog a couple months ago and called in a favour when I heard.”

Philip gave a half-laugh at that. He wondered if the drinks were making him too easily amused, but he liked that Thomas seemed able to drive a hard bargain. It was a little quaint, neighbours and lost dogs and all that (for some reason, Philip pictured some suitable, conservative and inane little dog, a Corgi or something), when Philip had blown representatives of two different management companies before getting a contract – but still.

“Clever,” Philip said. “I suppose you’ll be wanting my autograph?”

Thomas looked down for a moment. Philip wouldn’t have minded kissing that pouty red mouth. Thomas seemed to sense that, or draw courage from the feel of Philip’s hand on his jacket.

“I’d like more than that,” he said, looking up at Philip again.

Philip grinned. It wasn’t the best line, either, but its intentions were clear and it did the trick. _At least_ someone’s _read Melody Maker._

“Shall I get you a drink?” he asked, pressing himself and Thomas further into the corner. Thomas shook his head.

“You can get me room service later,” he said – just the sort of cheeky, rather haughty thing Philip might have said himself; he _liked_ it.

And that, as they say, was that.


End file.
